Kids Write the Darndest Things
by Bloody Koalas
Summary: For the brave of heart and soul, Bloody Koalas presents...a young-age fic with just a tad of that good old fashioned childhood ignorance.


**Please read the following note!**

_Author's Note: Hey, guys…please, don't take this story seriously. I don't exactly plan on going anywhere with it. This story was written in February, I think, but I honestly can't believe that I wrote something so silly. Posted for those of you who've liked my writing before...come see what I used to be! My writing style has changed for the better. :) If I do decide to re-write it, the story will undoubtedly be very different. This is non-beta-d. I want it to have that authentic new-author feel to it. Names changed to protect the innocent. Heh. This is an unfinished piece, and it will undoubtedly stay that way (again, if I ever do pick it up, it will be completely different). I do, however, approve of my Housian humor. That I like. Yeah, I'm extremely modest._ _Note (again): I don't own House, and I very much wish to say I don't own this piece. But I do, so here—mock me while it lasts._

_Yo: Sorry bout the unposting thing. Reposted for Hazmatt. _

* * *

The floor squeaked loudly as the three teens rushed into the room. It was very warm outside, almost 99 degrees, and the girls felt that a cold smoothie was a deserved treat. Jessie laughed as she grabbed an apple, taunting Hannah as to bit into it. "Noooo!" cried Hannah defensively, protectively. "We have to _save_ those!"

I smiled at my friend's poor deductive skills. "Hannah, what will we ever do with you? Won't you ever learn that nothing will stand between Jessie and what she wants to eat?" she smiled despite herself, and started to peel a banana.

"Hey, make yourself useful," she said playfully. "Peel a mango, if you can get at one without Jessie attacking you." I grinned and grabbed a pairing knife, mumbling something about how much experience I'd had, and began to melodiously chop the fruit, it's orange juices staining the countertop. Jessie grabbed a piece and waved it in front of my face before popping it into her mouth. I admitted defeat, gave Hannah a slice as well as one for myself, and for good measure, another for Jess.

"Cheers!" Hannah laughed, and happily gobbled down the fruit. I walked to the sink in a futile attempt to remove the sticky juices from my fingers, which I really and truly hoped would come off. Of course, they didn't. But I should've known better—my luck was terrible.

Upon my return to the living room, I found Jess swaying on her toes and grasping at the air. Hannah was clutching a chair for support, her knuckles white with pressure. "What the…" I managed to mutter, before sprinting with a speed commendable of an Olympic athlete. But I was still to late to catch Jessie as she fell from where she was standing.

I looked up at Hannah, my eyes filled with questions, my mouth posed to ask. But she beat me to it. "Blurry vision-onset directly after consuming…" she paused, and it looked like she was going to faint. "After c-con…" My heart skipped a beat. "Call…911…Princeton-Pl…House…" When she fell, I caught her, but my heart stopped as I looked into her normally vivid brown eyes, now rolled back into her head. Her heart rate was much, much faster than normal, and Jessie was no different. They were both in the same terrible state. Soon the only noise that could be heard was the ominous dialing of the phone, and my frantic voice as I shouted into it.

As I waited for the ambulance, I reviewed the words, the clues, which Hannah had given me. Perhaps the thing that worried me most about my two friends' predicament was that she has requested House. Hannah is an amazing diagnostic, even at 13, and I knew she would never, ever seek assistance from someone as sarcastic and rude as him if the facts really didn't add up. Unfortunately for me, the sole witnesses were both unconscious, though their heart rates dropped slightly lower, more normal rate, so I didn't know exactly what the facts were. All I knew was blurry vision, loss of balance and accelerated heart rate were _not_ normal symptoms of eating a particular tropical fruit.

* * *

Cameron walked into the meeting room, giving the area a quick scan to determine if they had a case. The whiteboard was clear. The oversized tennis ball was on House's desk, not being bounced onto the wall. They didn't have a case.

Actually, the only other person in the room was Foreman. "Chase made the coffee." He warned, and casually took a sip from his cup, his brow wrinkling in distaste. _Wow,_ thought Cameron. _He must really need the caffeine if he's willing to drink Chase's sludge. _

"Chase is in the clinic." He mumbled, before getting back to his medical journal.

Cameron yawned. "Why do I need to know that?"

"When Chase is doing Clinic duty, House is not. If he made Chase do his clinic duty, he's here. Since he's not in his office, he's not actually working. And since—"

Cameron cut him off, finishing herself. "And since he's not working, Cuddy's going to force a case on a us."

Foreman didn't look up. "Exactly. And my guess is that she's on his heels right now."

She sat down and flipped open a Lupus textbook. May as well use it once.

She paused in the Oncology Ward, waiting, listening. If he's bothering Wilson again, he'd be out soon, and his familiar 'cane-thump, cane-thump' was sure to give him away. No noise came. Finally, after waiting 5 minutes, her administrative patience was lost. Cuddy burst through the doors of 'James Wilson, M.D.'. "Dr. Wilson!"

The fire in her eyes told him she was not a force to be reckoned with. "Dr. Cuddy, he hasn't come in here today, if that's what you're wondering."

"Thank you, Dr. Wilson." She spun on her heels, and her untastefully proportioned shirt fluttered behind her as she exited the room.

The second he'd heard her fiery shout, House was running—er, _limping—_ down the halls. To the placed she'd never find him. To the clinic.

* * *

House grabbed a file folder and headed unhappily into exam room one. Inside sat a brunette, about 5"3'. She looked nervous, and held her hands behind her back.

"Dr. House." The girl's voice was shaky.

"Oh, so formal! Just call me 'Uncle Greg'."

She continued, unfazed. "My name is not Hannah Fields. Got that? General Hospital is about to start, so I know you won't care if I waste your time. Dr. Wilson told me that you like it. Now eat this." She held out a mango.

"I'm sorry, but Mommy said no taking candy from strange little girls who are friends with weird oncologists. Tell me what's wrong with you, or I'll begin a series of painful and invasive tests that may or may not work."

"His niece is my friend. Eat this."

"Listen, brat, I don't think you've got this 'clinic' idea down. You came here because you were sick. And if you don't tell me what said sickness is, I'll beat you with my cane. Now, tell me what's wrong with you."

"For a doctor, I thought you'd like to know _why_ I'm holding a mango and giving demands that you eat it. Nothing is wrong with me."

"Either you're a lot dumber than I though you were, or you should be in the Psyche Ward. _Your _sheet says that you have a vision problem."

"Hannah has a vision problem."

House bit back a sarcastic and insulting comment so he could see where this conversation was headed.

"Blurry vision onset after eating a mango."

"Okay. Let me put this into terms you might understand. Fire is very warm. Bunny walks into fire. Bunny dies. Got that? Now, give kid-with-allergy mango, kid has ALLERGIC reaction. Your "friend" has a mango allergy. Treatment? No. More. Mangoes. Now get. General Hospital is about to start."


End file.
